Free as a Bird
by tiylaya
Summary: A quick glimpse at the Battle of the Planets from a less commonly seen persepective. Vignette.


**Free as a Bird**

**A Battle of the Planets vignette**

A brief glimpse of the Battle of the Planets from a less commonly seen perspective.

This story is based on characters and situations from the animated series 'Battle of the Planets', produced by Sandy Frank Entertainment, which was in turn based on the anime series 'Science Ninja Team Gatchaman', produced by Tatsunoko productions. Characters are used without permission.

I was inspired to put pen to paper (or more accurately fingers to keyboard) again after reading something of Madilayn's. I'm not sure anyone reads these little vignettes, but I hope they amuse.

Feedback is always welcome (and eagerly anticipated).

* * *

I watch them circle above me, their wind-blown wings creating a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colour.

White is silhouetted vividly against green and blue. Yellow and Red mingle as the team of five become one, leaving their separate perches and dropping towards their common goal.

They move easily, shaping the air around them, settling to the ground with the flaring wings and elegant grace of birds of prey. I stare. Even if just for a moment, I marvel at what our enemies have wrought.

Death is come upon me, and all I can see is its beauty.

A tendril of power caresses my spine, and I shudder, dragging my eyes away from G-Force and turning instead to the sea of dark green troops that surround me. Such thoughts are not for me. My master is all-powerful, all-knowing. He sees into my soul, owns it entirely. He raised me, shaped me in his image. But his punishment is terrible, and one warning is all he'll give me.

I raise my hand, and in response, a hundred Spectran guns are raised. Wings flare and G-Force takes to the air once more. I clench my fist, and a hail of bullets almost blocks out the sun.

Stupid, I know that at once. Stupid of the troops to send up what must come down. Stupid of me not to realise that the scarcely-trained cretins would do just that. Why bother to waste time on training fragile, fallible individuals? There would always be more to replace them. Throw enough resources at a problem and how can you fail? That's the Spectran mindset.

That's my Master's mindset.

Not mine.

A second shiver ripples down my spine, and now it's not my Master's power, but the anticipation of it. I will be punished for these thoughts. And I will deserve it. Perhaps I've been studying my enemies too long. Perhaps in striving to anticipate Anderson and his protégés, I've started to think too like them.

G-Force has backed off momentarily, perching on the same window-sills through which they entered, watching as the lead projectiles fall back, decimating the field of green. In turn, I watch the white-clad figure of their leader, anticipating the moment when he will take the air once more.

Will I stay to face him this time? Or is the battle lost already? Is this the time to flee?

His head tilts back, and his blue-tinted visor catches the light. Somehow I know that despite my mask and his own, our eyes are meeting. He is asking the same questions.

As if by some unseen signal, the five spread their wings and launch themselves upon my disarrayed troops.

Twenty remain. My survival instincts battle against my angry frustration as I scream commands to my men. How many times can I run from these enemies? How many indignities can my soul bear?

Ten. And now the decision is taken from me. The Master's power grips me, and flares around me. I'm not in control of my own limbs as I turn, my purple cloak rippling through the air to blur my outline. I let it fall, already sliding through the hatch that the widespread cloak had concealed. A moment later, I'm in the seat of my escape vehicle, and my Master has activated the launch sequence.

The sturdy craft punches through the thin metal of the base, bursting its roof. I look down and watch as the last of my men falls to the weapons of G-Force.

It is my Master's voice that laughs through my lips, taunting our enemies for their failure to catch me. And it is my Master's power that tears through me now.

The caress becomes a whip, power slashing my skin and contorting my limbs. Slumped in my seat, well out of sight of the ground, I pay the price for my latest failure.

How many indignities can my soul bear? Pointless question when my soul is not my own.

After an eternity of agony, the whipping subsides. Once more a caress of power soothes me, and stimulates me. The kind word that follows a beating, binding me ever closer to him in terror of his anger, and in yearning for this forgiveness.

Painfully, slowly, I sit a little straighter in my chair.

Far below now, I see colourful wings taking to the air, G-Force returning to their vehicles. A white jet seems to appear from nowhere, chasing this little craft until my rocket motors win out over the underpowered aircraft.

The jet turns back, descending in lazy spirals as its mother-ship rises slowly to meet it. Ahead of me, the haze of atmosphere gives way to the deep emptiness of space.

Pursuit is over; once again I have escaped. Once more I have weathered my Master's wrath.

And yet my eyes are drawn from the infinity of opportunities that stretches in front of me, to the jet as it's drawn into a gentle embrace.

The Phoenix turns homeward, and slowly I raise my eyes towards distant Spectra.

Free as a bird.

**The End**


End file.
